I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus
by snoozie2105
Summary: What happens when four-year-old Emma Rossi sees her mother with Santa under the mistletoe?


Author's note: I have no claims to Criminal Minds or its characters. Merry Christmas, y'all!

_Christmas Eve_

"Oh, Lord," I sigh as I drop to the couch. It's been an extraordinarily long day, and I'm beat. When my wife Jennifer volunteered me to play Santa at the Bureau's Christmas party for underprivileged kids, I wasn't too pleased about it, but after she batted those eyelashes at me and promised a special thank you if I'd be a good sport, I was looking forward to it. What's an hour or two for the kids? I asked myself.

Famous last words.

It is now after ten o'clock, I've been wearing the bright red suit, heavy padding and scratchy white beard for over six hours, and I just got home. Oh, well. I didn't have it half as bad as Spencer and Morgan. They were my elves and had to wear the whole costume – the green and brown leotard and the stupid hat with the red feather and the ridiculous shoes with the toes turned up. I thought Morgan was gonna deck me when I told him he looked more like Robin Hood than one of Santa's elves.

I can tell without even looking that Jennifer is trying not to laugh at me, still in my Santa get-up, collapsed on the couch. "Babe," I say weakly, lifting my head from the soft pillow. "Would you bring me a Scotch, please? I would get it for myself, but I don't think I can move." I probably don't need to sound so pitiful, but it can't hurt.

Mercifully she comes back to the living room with my drink in less than a minute. "Thanks," I say as she motions for me to turn around so she can give me a massage. "I haven't been this exhausted in ... in ... in I don't know how long."

"Here, Santa," Jennifer giggles as she kisses the nape of my neck. "Let Mrs. Claus take care of you. Thank God Christmas only comes once a year."

"You can say that again," I reply, pushing my beard out of the way so I can take another sip of my Scotch.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, and I feel myself start to relax as Jennifer continues to knead my shoulders and back. How is it that she always knows just what I need?

"I think Emma had fun this afternoon," Jennifer finally says as she finishes my massage and makes herself comfy in my arms. Emma is our four-year-old daughter; she's just like her mother, in looks and personality, and I couldn't love her more. "Did you see her face when you walked into the room? Her eyes were as big as saucers."

"I know," I laugh. "I spotted her almost as soon as my eight tiny reindeer landed. She didn't suspect it was me, did she?"

"No – not at all. I was worried she'd tug on your beard to see if it was real. Can you imagine the scene if _she_ exposed _you_ as a _fraud_ in front of all those kids?" she asks dramatically.

"I'm telling you, Jennifer, she's too smart for her own good."

"I know. But today she was just a little girl, totally and completely awed by Santa. And," Jennifer says as she sits up on her knees and takes my face in her hands, "right now, I'm very glad that she's asleep." She gives me a long, deep kiss. It looks like I'm about to get that thank you she promised me.

"Mmm ... same here," I manage to say between kisses. "I don't really want any interruptions right now, even from Em." All of a sudden, I'm not so tired, and I'm trying to get the Santa beard out of the way so we can get down to business, but that's easier said than done. "You didn't happen to slip her a Sominex, did you?"

Jennifer bursts out laughing and slaps me on the arm, the romantic mood gone – for the moment. "No. But she was almost asleep by the time I got her out of her car seat and carried her inside. She wore herself out playing with Jack and Lucas. Wonder how long she'll let us sleep tomorrow morning?"

"Let's see ... I'm betting until 4:22. Then she'll come running to our room, fling open the door, throw herself onto our bed, and wake us up, if she hasn't already."

Jennifer shrugs, then nods. "Sounds like any other morning, except about an hour ahead of schedule."

I decide we're done talking and take Jennifer into my arms again. She takes my breath away in the soft glow of the lights on Christmas tree and the few candles on the coffee table. Sometimes I've got to pinch myself, I can hardly believe how lucky I am to have her. Just before I came back to the BAU and met her, I vowed I'd never settle down again, but now I can't imagine being with anyone else, anywhere else. Emma is the icing on the cake. There would be no joy, no light, in my life without them.

After a few minutes of heavy making out on the couch like two horny teenagers, I stand up, pulling Jennifer with me. "What do you say we turn in, Mrs. Claus?" I ask, nibbling the soft skin of her neck. "We'll have an early morning, and our guests will be here by eleven ... and I want you to have a _very_ merry Christmas, if you get my drift ...."

"Oh, I get it," she murmurs, a smile in her voice as she wraps her arms even more tightly around me. "But one more kiss under the mistletoe. I don't think we'll have much chance for this tomorrow, with everyone here."

Little do we know, a sleepy and confused Emma was watching everything from the second-floor landing. I'm still in my Santa suit, and Jennifer is kissing me.

_Christmas Day _

It's one o'clock, and the living room looks like a bomb went off – wrapping paper, bows, various gifts everywhere. The women are in the kitchen, cooking and gossiping, and the men are in the den, watching sports and keeping an eye on the kids. Emma, Jack Hotchner and Lucas Lynch are busy playing with their new toys, and so far, everyone seems to be getting along.

When Jennifer calls us to the table, I can't believe my eyes – the women have really outdone themselves this year. But before we can dig in, Penelope insists that we go around the table and say what we're thinking or wishing as we approach the end of one year and the start of another.

When we get to Emma, she takes a deep breath and looks back and forth between her mother and me. I have no idea what she's about to say, but knowing her, I'm sure it'll be good.

"Well," she begins, "I'm happy that everyone is here, and I'm very grateful for all my Christmas gifts." I grin at Jennifer, and she winks at me – those reminders we give our daughter about manners have paid off, apparently. "But what I really want is a baby brother or sister."

Complete and total silence descends on the dining room. The color drains from Jennifer's face, and she looks like she's barely fighting the urge to clap her hand over Emma's mouth and apologize to our guests.

Instead, she clears her throat, smiles graciously, and says, "Okay. Thank you, baby. Moving on. Emily?" She turns to her friend for rescue. She knows I probably won't be much help, and she's right. I think Emma might be on to something here ....

"Wait! I'm not done, Mama!" Emma cries, her eyes wide. "I was going to say that I think I just might get one, cause _I_ saw _you_ kissing _Santa Claus_ last night!"

Oh no. It's over now. The kids look dumbstruck, and the adults are turning red, trying to keep from laughing.

I raise my eyebrows at Jennifer, a silent "Is this something I should know about?" She glares at me, but then she smiles too. Emma looks like she has no idea what she has said or done, and I pick her up so we're eye to eye. "Why weren't you in bed, young lady?"

"I couldn't sleep," she explains, like I'm the world's biggest idiot, "and I wanted to see if Santa had come, so I went to the landing. And Daddy – he was here, I saw him! He was in _our_ living room, under the mistletoe with Mama, and they were _kissing_!"

I can't resist. "On the lips?"

"_Yes!"_

"Did they have their arms around each other?"

_"Yes!"_

I could keep the questions going – I want to ask if Mama looked like she was enjoying herself with Santa – but it's time for quick thinking. Much to my surprise, Emma isn't asking for an explanation, but I feel like she deserves one. I don't want her thinking that her mother is fooling around with the jolly old man in the red suit, but at the same time, I can't destroy the myth of Santa Claus for her – kids need to believe in something, and she's already growing up faster than I want her to. "Sweetie, that was me. I had to fill in for Santa last night, and when I got home, I was still wearing one of his outfits."

"But why, Daddy?" See what I mean about our daughter being too smart for her own good? Jennifer and the other adults are obviously enjoying this now that the initial embarrassment is over.

"Because Santa had to get the reindeer ready, and he had to oversee the elves, make sure they had all the toys wrapped up and in his sleigh and ready to go. He knows I can cover a lot of ground fast, so he asked if I could go to a party for him. And who am I to say no to Santa Claus? Would _you_ turn him down?" I ask, giving her a kiss on the nose.

"No," she giggles, apparently satisfied – for now – with the answer I've just given her. "But I still want a baby brother or sister!"

_Christmas Night_

Another happy Christmas, come and gone. Emma has been in bed for a while, and I've just peeked into her room to make sure she is definitely asleep. She has her arm around her teddy bear, and she's kicked off the covers. I tuck her in again and give her a kiss before turning in myself.

"You think we're safe tonight?" Jennifer calls from the bathroom.

"We're good! She's dead to the world."

When Jennifer emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, I'm happy to see that she's wearing one of the Christmas gifts I gave her earlier – a sexy black negligee. She grins as she does a few turns and models it for me. "You like?"

"I love," I reply, looking her up and down. "Someone has good taste. Now get over here, woman – time's a-wastin'."

Later, when we're wrapped in each other's arms, I decide it's a good time for a serious talk. "So ... what do you think? Do we give Emma her Christmas wish?"

Jennifer laughs softly and shakes her head. "She's got it all figured out, hasn't she?"

"She thinks so. But I want to know what you think."

"Emma already has her Christmas wish."

"It's up to you, you know – I'd be thrilled with another, and who knows? Maybe we'd have a boy. But don't let Em and I pressure you. You say the word, and we'll start trying again. It is your decision entirely."

"Did you not pick up on what I just said?" she asks, lifting her head from my chest and looking up at me.

I'm not following. She gives me that look that says I need to have my hearing checked.

"I said," she says patiently as she takes my hand and places it on her stomach, "we're already giving Emma her Christmas wish. It must've happened when she was with my folks, and you and I weren't doing much besides each other."

It's amazing to me that she can still blush like that, but more important, I remember those few days very well. Jennifer's parents had been asking to have Emma come stay with them so they could show her off to their friends, and Thanksgiving seemed like the time to do it, so the Jareaus came down the Friday before, took Emma with them on Saturday, and Jennifer and I drove up Wednesday afternoon. It was nice having time to ourselves, but we both agreed we would never want to go back to life PE – Pre-Emma, that is.

"Jennifer, when did you find out? When were you planning on telling me?"

"I saw the doctor two days ago, while you and Em were out doing your last-minute shopping, and planned on telling you tonight, though I had no idea that our daughter would provide me with the perfect opportunity to do so. Merry Christmas, Santa."

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Claus."


End file.
